


locked out of heaven

by emmaofmisthaven



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: CS's Smut Summer Festival 2015, F/M, PWP without Porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-12 20:36:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4493841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaofmisthaven/pseuds/emmaofmisthaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of smutty Captain Swan oneshots</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Emma lets her head fall against the pillow, laughing and breathless. Her chuckle grows louder as Killian topples next to her on the pillows and groans happily, eyes closed and hair messy. There is an ‘I told you so’ ghosting at the corner of his lips, one she will punch him for if he dares say it out loud. She looks back up, though, and smiles to herself at the blankets draped over their heads and falling all around them to create a cocoon.

Her first blanket fort, she thinks happily, her heart fluttering a little. It’s so rare for her to have the house to herself, especially at night, but Ingrid is catering at a wedding this evening, leaving her alone up until god knows when. Of course Killian had taken that opportunity, crashing her place with a shit-eating grin and a bottle of cheap vodka. It was the vodka’s fault, really, if Emma had admitted never having built a blanket fort before – she used to be happy if she had her own pillow, and then had thought herself too old for such things.

Killian, of course, had made it his mission to prove her wrong. Gathering the pillows and blankets in all the rooms, he had built a massive, fluffy fortress for her, smirking the whole time. Almost mocking, but Emma can’t really blame him because the guy built a freaking blanket fort for her. He deserves to be smug about it.

“It’s awesome,” she whispers, a little breathless and a lot excited.

Emma feels like a little girl, for once in her life. It clashes with how she feels every time she glances Killian’s way, but oh well. If her heart misses a beat, it’s because of the adrenaline of the moment. Not because of the way he looks at her.

The way he stares at her, quite frankly, and she arches an eyebrow as she rolls to lie on her side, leaning on her elbow. His cheeks are red with laughter and exhaustion, making the blue of his eyes even more vibrant – there’s a lot to be said about them, and how soft they turn when he looks at her, like he cherishes her, like he sees something in her Emma doesn’t even understand.

His eyebrows rise in challenge at her silent question, before his eyes shamelessly drop to her mouth, then back up again. It would be a lie to say it wasn’t a long time coming – they’ve been tiptoeing around each other for months now, ever since they were paired together for that science project. It wasn’t until Ingrid adopted her – properly, officially adopted her – two months ago that she let herself trust him, and trust herself around him.

It’s been a long time coming.

It doesn’t stop her breath from hitching in her throat when he leans forward, lips brushing against hers tentatively. His mouth is soft, his hand warm on her waist, and Emma can only pull him closer, hand on his neck, fingers against his jaw. Just enough to deepen the kiss, just enough to tilt his head to the side and find the right angle.

When they break away, it’s breathless and panting, pupils blown black with lust, lips swollen. She did that too him, the sight so fascinating she can only dive back in, eager and hungry. His fingers tighten their hold on her waist as he pushes her back down against the pillows, moving around so he nudges her legs apart, knee resting between them. The hardness against her thigh is impossible to ignore, and so is the warmth pooling low in her belly, the desire coursing through her veins.

“Killian,” she moans when his kisses trail down her jaw to explore her neck.

He grins against her skin, hand finally, _finally_ travelling up and under her shirt. He’s everywhere all at once and it’s too much too soon, the feelings an overwhelming novelty to her – she’s done it before, but never like that, never teasing and playful and fun.

“Bloody hell, Emma.”

She grabs his shoulders, pulls him back to her. “Less talking, more kissing.”

Killian’s grin is downright sinful as he takes her all in, before dropping another kiss on her mouth. He bites down on his own lip then, and she would almost moan at the way his hand leaves her skin, if it wasn’t for the way it lands on her jeans instead, toying with the zipper. His eyes never leave hers, asking, begging, and she can only nod in reply.

A sigh escapes her lips when he unzips her jeans, his hand sneaking beneath the denim fabric. She’s wet for him already, fingers barely brushing her underwear before he groans and noses at her neck, whispering about how brilliant, marvellous, _fantastic_ she is.

He isn’t so bad himself, especially when his thumb circles her clit and has her gasp in pleasure, two fingers stroking her before entering her in a swift motion. She opens her legs a little wider to him and bites down on her lip, hard enough that it may as well drawn blood.

He goes slows at first, curling his fingers, pumping – learning her and what she likes best, what makes her breathing itch, what makes her moans. Curious and attentive, even as he settles a faster rhythm that has her gasping his name until she kisses him, hot and messy. Her fingers curl around his neck, nails probably leaving indents into his skin, but it only seems to encourage him.

Her back arches and her legs twitch, before her every muscle tense and she comes around his fingers, a wordless cry against his mouth. He keeps the back-and-forth motion as she rides out her orgasm, kisses her cheek – she feel his smirk against her skin, smug bastard that he is. He deserves to be proud, probably.

When she opens her eyes again, it’s to a softer smile, though, eyes crinkling at the corners and hair a mess on top of his head. Her heart does something that has little to do with desire, and a lot to do with something else, something she refuses to label quite yet.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Blanket forts,” she replies. “Awesome idea.”

He chuckles, low and deep, and kisses her.


	2. Chapter 2

She bites on her bottom lip, red and plump, and it leaves indents in her skin. He wants to taste them, full and tempting, wants to claim them until he leaves her breathless and panting, until she begs for more in a broken whisper – eyes blown black with luck and desire, pink high on those perfect cheekbones of hers. He wants to bite down on her lip the way she does, vixen, temptress. She does it on purpose, of course, eyes sparkling with gleam, foot brushing against his under the table.

It takes all his self-control not to reach for her and pull her into a kiss, not to drag her out of the diner and into a back alley – not to have his way here and there, only the backdoor between them and other patrons. Her legs around his hips, her fingers pulling at his hair as he pushes inside her and steals her breath away.

Killian forces himself to focus, even if he barely makes out the words her parents share. She laughs at him, almost openly, even more so when he shifts in his seat to find a more comfortable position. He’s half hard already, his trousers too tights, his skin too hot, and reconsiders dragging her to the restroom.

It’s too tempting a thought.

She’s too tempting a woman.

Time slows down, his patience running thin with each passing second. He is a composed man – years in the Navy, years in Neverland forcing him to bide his time. He is a patient man, but even he has his limits.

Emma laughs when he jumps to his feet, ignores the surprised looks of her parents. He takes her hand and tugs, and she gets the message all right – follows him outside with a wave to the others, hurries up when he does.

“Eager, are we?” she asks teasingly, in a horrible rendition of his accent.

Killian rolls his eyes, and pulls her into a mess, hungry kiss. She tastes of the red wine she drank, the sweet bouquet of her mouth having him pull her closer until she gasps softly when his hips press to hers, when there is no denying his arousal.

She’s the one to break into a run, almost, back to the house, discarding her keys to open the front door with a snap of her fingers. He’s the one to close it, pushing Emma against it with the force of his body. Her lips meet his in a clash of teeth and tongues, his hand sneaking under her top with little finesse – she groans, low and guttural, when he gropes her breast, and seeks friction with her hips against his. More, always more.

They break away long enough to discard their clothes. Killian wets his swollen lips at the flush on her face and neck – it travel down in angry red patches, down to her breasts. Her chest heaves with each breath she takes, nipples pink and tempting against the lace of her brassiere. His mouth goes dry, a little, hunger settling deep within his stomach and his mind.

When he reaches for the fastenings of his belt, he doesn’t bother dressing down – just enough to free his cock from the confinement of his clothes, just enough to then grab her thighs, hand and hook propping her up and against the wall. She wraps her legs around him, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders. One thrust is all he needs to have them moan in unison as he sinks deep inside her.

She moves before he does, wriggling against him until they set a rhythm, sloppy and hurried. He likes her best like this – wordless moans at the back of her throat, a blush on her cheeks and neck, her red _red_ lips open in a scream she doesn’t utter, her eyes close and forehead crunched up. He likes her best like that, hungry and desperate for friction, for more.

His hook pinches in her leg, enough to have her gasp but not to draw blood, but bloody hell if he refuses to do something about it – moving inside her, again and again, until she tightens her hold against his neck with one arm so her free hand can draw circles against her clit, over and over again. Her muscles tighten around him and she is close, so close magic sparkles on her skin and sizzles in between moans and groans.

“Killian, I –” she starts, and chokes on the words, chokes on her orgasm as it takes her by surprise. It is enough for him to follow, three thrusts before he comes too, with a groan of her name on his lips and a kiss branded into the sensitive skin of her neck.

They stay entangled against the door even as their breathing even, even as the red of her body turns to a creamy pink again – shame.


End file.
